“I’ve been allowed to keep Rella…for now. However, Draken is no longer considering me for his heir. He went so far as to issue a public decree admonishing my weak blood and stating that under no circumstance would I succeed him as High King. If Draken should die without naming a successor, a counsel will rule until a proper Langorian can be selected for the throne.”
“I know how badly you wanted Draken’s endorsement, Malaq. But it could have gone down a lot worse.”
“I’m not sure how.”
I offered him a blatant ‘you’re kidding me’ look. “Draken could have killed you.”
“He might as well have. Parading me out in front of his army, dressing me down, whipping me, making me kneel before him and re-pledge my fealty. The doubt my brother created in the minds of his counselors and the citizens was nothing less than political murder.”
“It’s still not as permanent as the real thing.”
“I’m not a soldier, Ian. The battlefield I fight on is different than yours. Not only will I be shunned in Langor, I was forced to publically denounce my sister and declare you all wanted fugitives. When I leave here today, I can’t return. I can’t risk being even loosely associated with any of you.” Malaq surrendered to a weary frown. “Running this rebellion is going to be significantly more difficult from now on.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “You should have told me about all of this.”
“When? The day you got back? It was hard to get the words out when you were strangling me with that vine.”
I ran my hands over my face. “What can I do?”
“Find Jem Reth and kill him. Fix the crown. And stay the hell out of sight.”
“Is that an order?”
Malaq’s smile was patient. “It’s a strong request. I’ll have some men assigned to you for the mission. Let Krillos know what you need for supplies.” Malaq stood up from the table. “There’s a spelled font in Kabri. We’ll have to communicate through its water for now. If there’s an emergency, Sienn can open a door. But it’s best if I initiate contact. I wouldn’t put it past Draken to show up unannounced now that I’m under scrutiny. And,” he sighed, “there’s a ship on its way carrying a representative from the new Arullan Government. He intended to meet with Guidon, but having arrived to find no King and no castle,” Malaq turned disapproving eyes on me, “Draken’s decided I should host the man instead. It’ll be weeks before he arrives, but my brother expects a lavish feast and my home is in no shape for entertaining.”
“Does your guest represent the good government or the bad one?” I asked.
“He represents the government that still wants your head. I’ll try not to promise it to him.” Malaq’s expression lightened as he looked at Jarryd. “Be well, my friend. Stay here and rest. You’ll be pulling arrows in no time.” He gave Jarryd a slap on the arm as he moved off.
The second Malaq left earshot, Jarryd turned to me. “Take me with you.”
“Where? To the ruins?”
He nodded eagerly. “You could be gone for days. You’ll need someone to watch over you. Someone that isn’t Langorian,” he added. “I swear I’ll stay out of the way. I won’t even go near Malaq’s men. I know you’re thinking it’s too dangerous, that I’m not ready. But the Kayn’l could wear off at any time. I don’t want to be half way across the country from you when it does. And…my hands are getting better. Look.” Jarryd picked up his mug. It was hard to watch. His grip was clumsy as he folded his crooked fingers around the handle. But he sustained the position with what looked like only mild discomfort. “What do you say?”
As Jarryd sat the mug down, my thoughts were exactly as he suspected. The mission could be dangerous. He wasn’t ready. Yet, I didn’t see how leaving him here was such a good idea. With Malaq and I both gone, there was no one to talk Jarryd down if he got out of hand. I also couldn’t forget the last time I dismissed Jarryd’s help. We went separate ways, the Langorians took him prisoner, and he spent two and a half years in hell before I got him back. Plus, no one was more loyal. If it came down to it, to defend me, the stubborn man would bolt the damn sword to his hand if he had to. “You’re right,” I decided. “You should be there with me.”
Surprise widened his grin. “You’re sure? I don’t need to ask Malaq, or anyone?”
“You’re their patient, nef’taali, not their prisoner. In fact, you need to get out of here for a while. You’ve been cooped up in this place long enough.”
“But…” he looked worried. “I have a guard.”
“He can come too.” I pulled Jarryd up from his chair. “My first day here Krillos introduced me to something called Arullan Ale. I think it’s time I passed on the favor.”
FORTY SIX
I shifted to see around Krillos.
He stepped in front of me. “She’s not coming.”
“Who’s not coming?” I said.
“You can’t pull off the innocent act, Troy. Not with that lovely face.” He snorted at my glare and shook his curly head. “Sienn hasn’t stepped outside in days. And even though it’s shaping up to be a fine sultry morning here in this swamp of ours,” he squinted into the hazy sun, “I’m guessing she isn’t venturing out to see you off.”
“I didn’t expect her to.”
“I can tell.”
My brow went up. “I’m worried about her.”
“Sienn’s a big girl. She’ll bounce back.”
“What if she can’t this time? I have to find out what Jem did. I have to fix it.”
“Some things can’t be fixed, Troy, even by you.”
The notion wasn’t one I cared to entertain. “Just make sure she takes care of herself. The safety of everyone here depends on Sienn and her spells.”
“I’ll pop in with some ale. That seems to work with you.”
“I think Kit and a cup of tea might be a better combination,” I said strongly. “Someone should look in on Neela, too. Depending on the spell, my father’s hold on her could ease over time. If it does, she might not remember what happened.”
“Sure.” Krillos paused to smack the bug feasting on the side of his neck. He flicked off the flattened carcass and smiled. “I’ll see to it personally.”
“If I have trouble locating Jem this could take a while. Malaq still has a guard outside my tent to protect the crown, but I’d appreciate it if someone looks after Kya.”
“Gods, Troy, settle down. Things aren’t going to fall apart if you’re gone a couple of days. Ah, finally,” Krillos breathed in relief as he spotted Lirih coming toward us.
Dwarfed by her cloak, she looked even smaller surrounded by a towering escort of twenty Langorian soldiers. Solid, well-armed, and layered in chainmail, the scowl that lurked beneath their unkempt beards deepened as they watched Jarryd approach from the other direction. Clearly, word of his problems with their kinsmen had spread.
Jarryd’s choice of attire wasn’t helping either.
Outfitted in dark blue breeches, a white tunic, black boots, and black leather vest, Jarryd was flaunting the colors of Rella’s former royal family. Whether it was a show of support, a blatant provocation, or an unconscious choice, I wasn’t sure. The anxious-eyed Rellan guard keeping pace alongside him appeared to share my doubts. Assigned to shadow Jarryd’s every move, as the man departed he gave me a nod, as if to say: he’s your problem now.
Jarryd came to stand beside me. On my other side, Krillos gave him a grin and a once over. “Lookin’ good, Kane. Glad to see the crazy’s left your eyes…mostly.”
I flinched, waiting for the punch. But Jarryd went another way. “Captain,” he smiled. “Sorry I never got to thank you for the inventive way you encouraged me out of Darkhorne. I only hope someday I can repay it in kind.”
Krillos laughed off Jarryd’s insinuation. “I bet you do. But the important thing is we both left Langor alive. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Before Jarryd said something I’d regret, I intervened. “Looks like we’re about to start.” I gestured at
Lirih as she spoke to the soldiers. One replied the way was clear, and she walked toward me. Stopping less than a foot away, Lirih surprised me when she threw her hood back. Strands of pale hair stuck up every which way. Her bow lips held a small, uncertain smile. Her cloudy eyes stared slightly past me. I recognized how their lack of awareness and expression might make people uncomfortable, but if they cared to look, there was strength and beauty as well.
Leaning toward me, her nose twitched. “Arullan Ale for breakfast?”
“Dinner,” I admitted. “I didn’t have time for breakfast.”
Reaching into her cloak, Lirih pulled out an apple. She tossed it without hesitation right into my hand.
“Nice,” I said admiringly.
“You should see me with a knife.”
I laughed. After a brief hesitation, Lirih indulged as well. But our sudden cordiality had drawn attention she couldn’t see, so I cut it short. “Are you ready?”
“Of course.” With her cloak fastened shut at the neck, I hadn’t noticed the strand of stones Lirih was wearing until she untied it, and they started glowing; celestite, diamond, obsidian, tanzanite, and amethyst. The obsidian was banded with layers of silver.
I watched the colors pulse. No wonder I have trouble with doors, I thought, feeling how the silver running through the obsidian altered its vibrations. And I didn’t even have tanzanite.
A Rellan man came forward with two brawny cows. He placed one on either side of Lirih and moved off. She put a palm flat on each animal. “Ian, for me to use your recollection as an anchor, I’ll need to absorb it. Come and put your hands on top of mine.”
I wavered, staring at the cows. “I’m not used to this.”
“Well buck up.” Krillos gripped my shoulder. “It’s better than you killing all the grass—which you’ve done inside your tent and thirty feet around it. And don’t get me started on the tree frogs. Next time, you’re cleaning them up. Besides,” he gestured at the cows, “this saves us the trouble of drying the meat.” At my disgusted grimace he laughed and slapped me on the back. “Good luck, Shinree.”
“Shinree don’t believe in luck, Captain,” Jarryd said flatly.
“Well, this one should start,” Krillos replied. “Especially, since I won’t be there to keep him out of trouble.”
“You didn’t do such a great job last time,” Jarryd reminded him.
Krillos smiled. “Looking to show me up, Rellan?”
“Shouldn’t be hard. I just have to bring him back. That’s one better than you.”
“Okay boys,” I cut in, “time to go. Krillos, clear the area until the door is open.” As he herded everyone back, I turned to Jarryd. “You too, Nef’taali. With the Kayn’l blocking our link, I can’t guarantee the magic won’t drain you.”
“Maybe it will protect me. You said it doesn’t let magic in.”
“Maybe. But I can’t guarantee that either. And I don’t know how good she is at directing a magic-price. If you’re in range, her spell might decide to overlook the cows and feed on you.”
Jarryd glanced at Lirih. “Sienn told me a door-maker has to envision the other side of their door. How does Lirih picture where she’s going if she can’t see?”
“A door-maker can connect to some place they’ve never been as long as they include someone in the spell who has. Lirih can ‘see’ through my memory of the cave. According to Jillyan, door-makers can store the images they’ve seen through others and use them again. Since Lirih’s blind, every door she’s ever made must have come from someone else’s mind.
“Huh.” Jarryd seemed impressed. “So, Lirih gets us through, and then what?”
“You and your Langorian friends set up camp—without incident.” I threw him stern eyes. “While I go meet the emperor and see if he’s got company.”
“You think it’ll be that simple?”
“All I have to do is slip inside the body of one of my ancestors; convince everyone I’m not me, while trying to distinguish one sadistic, narcissistic Reth from another.” I shrugged at Jarryd’s worried frown. “How hard could it be?”
FORTY SEVEN
By the time I felt the knife in my grip it was too late. The hand was already in motion. The blade was already slicing across her throat, tearing through flesh, letting the blood out. Red stained her pale skin and speckled her white hair. It ran across the stone floor as she fell from my startled grip.
I took control of the body I was in and dropped the knife. A quick glance around the chamber showed tables, shelves, fire pits, and altars with bodies tied to them. Four men with distinctive sharp features were standing in front of me. They had various styles of clothing and white hair, but their pale eyes all held the same resentful gleam.
A fifth came up from behind. He shoved me unceremoniously down next to the girl I’d just killed. Instinct told me to struggle. It also told me that in the brief minute I’d been here, I’d already screwed up. So I did nothing as the man climbed on my back and pressed something sharp against it.
“Did you see him hesitate?” my captor shouted. “I told you he was the weakest of us. I told you not to bring him in. Now what the fuck do we do?”
“He’s our little brother,” one of the others replied. “What can we do?”
A third hollered, “Relax, all of you! If Varos was prone to act as rashly as he speaks, we might have a problem. But he’ll obey in the end. Won’t you, Varos?” Shuffling over, he leaned down and cuffed me in the head. “He’s too cowardly to do otherwise.”
Another set of boots approached. Pressed to the floor, I couldn’t see who they belonged to. Only that he walked with such purpose the folds of his floor-length, night-blue robe interfered with his strides. “Let him up,” he commanded.
Metal sung behind me as steel slid home. Weight lifted off me and I got up fast. I’d dropped the knife, and a quick check of the trousers and tunic I was wearing revealed no other weapons. Fighting wasn’t an option. Neither was running. I was nowhere near the only door in the room. Accusing them of sacrificial murder probably wasn’t the way to go, either. All I could do was let the moment play out.
The man in the blue robe came closer. Thirty years older than everyone else, age had thinned his white hair. Beneath the robe, his body was far from soft, but noticeable wrinkles adorned his long, sharp-boned face. It looked even longer with the wiry puff of white beard on his chin and the grimace of distaste on his thin lips. As he shook his head, the other four in the room snickered, eagerly awaiting my apparent, impending punishment.
It was the behavior of mean, spiteful brothers; a good sign I was in the right spot. Unfortunately, it meant they were probably right about what was coming. Still, I held my ground. I met the older man’s alert, white eyes as they changed from angry, to resigned.
He stared a moment more. Then he raised a hand and slapped me. I could have taken the hit. But I wasn’t me. So I crumbled.
“Get up, son,” he said.
I did, and he hit me again. I kept to my feet this time. I was pissed, but I took what he gave me as if I deserved it. As if I was used to it. Because I was pretty sure Varos was.
After one more hit, the elder man pulled me into an embrace. “A momentary lapse, my sons,” he announced over my shoulder. “Nothing more. It’s natural to feel shock the first time you take a life outside of battle.” Slapping me heartily on the back, his voice lowered. “If it happens again, it might be your blood that runs on my floor. Do I make myself clear?”
I nodded. As he let me go, the heavy, iron door across the room creaked open. It pushed inward, revealing a petite, wavy-haired Shinree girl on the other side. Without taking a step over the threshold, she lifted the apron covering the skirt of her tan tunic dress and curtsied. “My Lord Mara’tam,” she said with low eyes. “Your dinner guests have arrived.”
Mara’tam…I thought. That must be Emperor Tam’s proper name.
“Thank you,” he responded.
Tam looked about to dismiss the girl, when the
brother who’d jumped me spoke up. “Father, give Varos another chance.”
“The spell is done, Gann,” Tam replied. “Let it be.”
“But we must be sure of his resolve. Besides,” Gann grinned as he slid a lewd glance to the servant in the doorway. “I’ve seen the way the runt looks at this one. It would be a true test of his mettle and his loyalty.”
A young voice came out of me. “No.” I tried to sound tougher. “It isn’t necessary. I was shocked, that’s all. It won’t happen again.”
“Of course it won’t,” Tam agreed. He put a hand on his son’s shoulder and turned me aside. “Tell me, Varos. Is Gann right? Do you fancy her?” He took my silence for confirmation. “Then she is yours.” Tam turned his attention on the girl. “Your name?”
She curtsied again. “Es’alyn Nadree, My Lord.”
“Nadree…” Tam thought a moment. “That’s a weaver name, correct?”
“Yes, My Lord. My family has the gift of reading a stone. We can match it to a caster’s need and entwine the words to see it done. My father and grandfather have put together many spells for the house of Reth.”
“Yet, they sent you to me for housework?”
Embarrassment darkened the girl’s square face. “My embroidery is quite good, My Lord. Some say exceptional,” she added shyly. “And…there has not been much of a call for weaving of late. Those that can afford to pay give their money to the erudite, who teach to cast without words. My father fears our line will become obsolete, so we must learn to serve in other ways.”
“Your father is correct. But you are too pretty for domestic labor. From now on you will be courtesan to young Varos. See my wife for something to wear. I expect you at his side for dinner. Just remember. If you disappoint my son, Es’alyn Nadree, your next assignment will be far less enjoyable.”
Es’alyn’s lip trembled. “Yes, My Lord.”
The girl scurried away and Tam gave me a squeeze. “Don’t fret if she’s a tad bashful in public, son. In private is what counts.” His sneer made me cringe.
The hostile looks my brothers were giving me made me wish I had a weapon.
The Crown of Stones: Magic-Scars Page 39
